A Smattering of Sugar
by FlyingLovegood123
Summary: One little girl, and one event that changed her life. The truths of the life of Dolores Jane Umbridge. Rated T for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A Smattering of Sugar

Summary: One little girl, and one event that changed her life. The truths of the life of Dolores Jane Umbridge.

**Okay, here is my least favorite character. I would love her to die even more than Voldemort. But one of the points of fanfiction is to explore new ideas, and this one popped into my head months back. Here it is, I hope you enjoy, and I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! IT ALL BELONGS TO J.K. ROWLING BECAUSE SHE IS SO AMAZING!**

Chapter one: The Little Cottage

There is a little cottage on the outskirts of Wiltshire. The gardens have long overgrown wild, the door to the little building is hanging from one forlorn hinge. The windows are broken and the paint around the house has peeled off in long strips. You can hear birds calling to each other from within the dark house, as well as bats rustling as they sleep. There is a grey gravel path that winds up to the steps, and lizards and bugs scurry out of your way. Beyond to house you can see a swing set; but it has rusted and the seats have rotted away.

You carefully approach the steps leading to the door. The three slabs of wood creak in protest as you trod carefully up, near the left side which has been sheltered from the elements more. You barely need to push the door open to gain entry. Inside is cool and damp despite the rising heat; it had rained just last night and little puddles of water have collected under the holes in the roof. Birds erupt from their hiding places, appearing as ghosts, their shrieks seem, to your ears, to cry _'turn away, turn away!'_

After your heart stops pounding, you can see the room more clearly.

It is covered in bird and bat droppings, but there are some stairs to your right. You don't move towards them because you can see from you position that the stairs in the middle have collapsed and you can hear something that sounds suspiciously like rats scuttling around. Pictures hung on the walls like many houses have; but some of the glass has shattered and the frames have broken, leaving the photos inside to be blown away or torn away for nests.

You are standing in the kitchen. There are cracked sinks and crumbled cupboards in front of you on the back wall. The sink's plumbing has been long cut off, but the water from last night's downpour drips slowly down into the weed-filled base. There in a dining table a few feet in front of you. It is just a square of wood that is covered in excrement and some dark substance. The legs have been ripped away and covered in . . . are those claw marks? With dread creeping into your throat you pull out your wand. You whisper a hasty spell and bats squeak as a small, warm beam of light appears. The dark substance on the table is _blood_, you realize in horror. Claw marks and blood? What happened in this little cottage? What stories do the moaning beams beg to tell?

Shaking your head you proceed cautiously over to the left side of the room where you have just spotted a doorway. Stepping carefully over the remains of four chairs that have clearly been savagely thrown into the wall, you see a sitting room.

Lying on their sides or backs, there is a sofa and two chairs. The cushions have been split open and the stuffing has long since disappeared to line the nests of the generations of birds. There's a fire place, a simple stone hearth. The grate lets in the light wind that has picked up outside. The weakened metal groans as you approach. You bend over to look closer, but recoil in horror.

There's more blood.

And it's not a few droplets like on the table, which look as if someone might have cut their arm. It's an entire puddle, and though it's dried it's messed in such a way as to show the owner of the blood was trying to crawl away, fingers scrabbling desperately.

You back away, wanting to leave this cottage. You want desperately to be at your own home and leave this mystery. Somebody _died_ here. Somebody was murdered, and you can almost imagine that person crying, screaming, and trying to crawl away and hide from their ruthless attacker. It's clear they didn't survive. There's too much blood.

As you back away, something under your foot crunches like the gravel lining the path outside. You glance down, hoping you didn't step on a bone (or a skull . . .) but no; it's just broken glass. You lift your feet, you curiosity peeked again. It's the glass from a frame. There's a photograph underneath. You pick it carefully up and study the four people in the picture.

There's a warm faced man, whose hair is black and his skin tanned. He seemed to be about 5'11'', and wearing simple Wizarding robes. He holds himself as all Pure-bloods do; with authority and power. He holds none of the usual (and expected) arrogance of the ancient Pure-blood families. His eyes twinkle kindly, his arms wrapped around his wife.

His wife has mousy brown hair that cascades in small ringlets down her back. She was quite beautiful, even with the apron on. Her eyes are bright blue like the clear sky behind her, and her smile is as warm as any mothers' should be.

There are two girls in front of the couple.

One is clearly not the couple's daughter. Her hair is so blonde it's nearly white, her eyes are a deep sapphire and she holds herself with a willowy grace that is only found in non-humans. Her features seemed to be carved out of marble or glass; perfect in every sense.

The second girl is the couples. She had her mother's brown hair but her father's dark eyes. She was short, like her mother, but held all of the kindness and compassion her parents did.

It was a Wizarding photograph, so all four were waving energetically at the camera. Every now and again the man and the woman would smile at each other, or the woman and her daughter, or the two girls.

This was clearly a loving family, but you can't remember something like this happening. Clearly this family would have been loved by a lot of people; they were happy with their lot in life and with all that love in their eyes they couldn't _not_ help others who were less fortunate. You think back to the claw marks and the blood and wonder;

_What could have happened here?_

XoX

_Forty three years ago_

"Mum!" A little girl shrieked "Mummy!"

A woman looked up from brushing her teeth in the bathroom. Spitting out the toothpaste, she called back; "What is it, 'Lores?"

"My Hogwarts letter!" Dolores called back, racing for the stairs. "It came!"

"Excellent!" Milane Umbridge rinsed her mouth and walked quickly to the stairs to her excitable daughter. Dolores, who had been up for quite a while waiting for this exact moment, pounded up the stairs and both mother and daughter met in the middle, hugging good morning and giggling.

"It came just like you told me!" Dolores broke off the hug, breathless, and waved her hand in front of her mum's face. In it was a slightly crushed envelope, the red wax seal already broken. "The owl looked so serious, too!"

Milane smiled and kissed her daughter's head as they wandered down the stairs. Dolores was talking like most eleven years olds do; non-stop. She had refrained from voicing her fantasies about the great castle in case she did not receive the letter that she clutched so tightly in her hand. She now spilled them out, wondering if the classes and their teachers would be like and if her class mates would like her. She also wondered what nearly every eleven year old in the Wizarding World wondered—what House she would be in.

"Will I be in Ravenclaw like you, mummy? Or Slytherin like daddy? Or What if I'm in the other two—Gryffindor or Hufflepuff?"

"Then we'll love you anyway!" A voice from the front door boomed. Dolores' dad stood there, having snuck out while Dolores was waiting for her letter. Her dad loved taking long walks in the mornings, and often brought Dolores with him—when she wasn't waiting for the biggest moment of her life.

"Daddy!" Dolores sang, jumping off her perch on the counter. She bolted over to her dad, giving him a hug while babbling about her Hogwarts letter.

"Uliah!" Milane scolded. "Don't keep sneaking up on me. You'll give me a heart attack!"

"Then I shall kiss you, Cinderella, and awake you from your slumber!" Uliah Umbridge struck a noble pose, bent on one knee, hands clasped to his heart. The ridiculous pose was somewhat ruined by Dolores clinging to his back.

"Nice try!" Milane threw a dish towel at him. "It's Sleeping Beauty, not Cinderella, who gets kissed. Try again, Prince Charming!"

The towel hit Uliah's face and slid down to the floor. Withdrawing his wand, Uliah flicked it and sent the cloth back to his wife, clean. "At least I'm reading Muggle fairy tales!" Dolores giggled and chimed in;

"Daddy's been reading Snow White to me. I love her seven little goblins!"

"Uliah!" Milane threw her hands up. "It's the seven little _Dwarves!"_

"But 'Lores won't run into Dwarves." Uliah argued, swinging Dolores over to her chair and setting her down. "She'll run into goblins."

"I wish you'd stop treating her like a four year old." Milane sighed, changing topics. "She's so young for her age."

"Umbridges grow up slower than others." Uliah said proudly. "'Lores will overcome that soon, and she'll be right up there with the rest of them. Besides, there's nothing wrong with being a little young."

Milane looked at him before deciding that her energies would be put to better use tending to the eggs, bacon, and waffles she was attempting to cook. Uliah grinned and turned back towards his daughter.

"So! Your Hogwarts letter come. What House do you want to be in?"

"I don't know," Dolores frowned. "You won't mind if I'm not in Ravenclaw or Slytherin?"

"No," Her dad answered her. "Lots of families like ours make sure to force their children into their own House, but you are not me, 'Lores, and you are not your mother. You go into the House you feel most comfortable with, okay?"

"Okay!" Dolores chirped. She had her dad pulled out some plates and loaded them up with Milane's cooking. The three of them sat around the well-worn table and dug in.

"So, when are we going to Diagon Ally?" Dolores asked.

"When would you like to go? If it's today, we'll have to wait for the afternoon. I have to do some work for the Ministry again." Uliah looked apologetic, but Dolores nodded.

"This afternoon sounds good." She said as she finished her meal. She pecked her mother's cheek, skipped over to the sink, and carefully washed her plate before putting it out to dry.

"Now be a good girl, 'Lores, and go gather some blueberries. I'll make my pie to-night so we can celebrate your letter!" Her mum called as Dolores raced over to the stairs. Dolores smiled brightly before grabbing a basket near the door. She and her mum made it years ago, but they still used it. She wandered out the door into the cool summer morning, smiling happily.

Forty nine years ago, the little cottage was full of life. A lattice work surrounded the door, honey suckle draped over it. The white sides had chalk drawings that Dolores and her parents drew—flowers, trees, birds, and rivers. Behind the windows were dozens of (currently unlit) candles that lit up the garden at night. Flowers like cosmos and wild roses lined the gravel path, which started at the gate. The gate and fence was lined with herbs for potions and medicine. There's an orchid in the distance, with a swing set in the center.

Forty three years ago, the cottage was home to Dolores Jane Umbridge.


	2. AN

**A/N: Hey, guys. Should I continue this story? I know I have one follower, but please review if you want me to continue. I'd love to, but I don't have a lot of motivation to. I might update it at some point, but I'm really not sure if I should. Please give me your feed back!**


	3. Apolline

Chapter 2: Apolline

**Disclaimer: I do not own!**

**Well, I got several reviews, favs, and follows! Thank you ****Thelostblacksister, Guest, ****Animagus Sugar Glider****,**** ginnyandharryluvr and anyone else who looked at it. Please keep reviewing, it means the world to me and actually causes me to sit down and write. I hope you like this chapter—it's short, but a longer one is coming, promise.**

**Please keep reviewing!**

Dolores was Sorted into Hufflepuff, which her parents rejoiced at. Her wand was vine wood, and eleven inches with Unicorn hair. She loved Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology, though she was fairly good at Charms. She did not do well, unlike her sort-of friend, Sybil Trelawney, at Astronomy, though her father assured her he was rubbish at it as well.

Sybil was a descendent of the famous Seer, Cassandra Trelawney, and was very proud of her heritage. Dolores found her to be very dramatic. She didn't want to stop being Sybil's friend, because that would be rude and each girl had no other friend, so Dolores stayed with her.

Dolores' first year at Hogwarts was normal. Nothing happened to her, besides getting very stressed out. Dolores had been quite care-free before school; besides helping her mum and daddy, she had no chores, and neither had to work for food or for money. Here she didn't either, but the work load and the tests were enough to drive her up the wall.

Dolores, in her first year, had found an elective available to a first year that could distract her from stress. For as long as she could remember, Dolores loved to draw.

She could sketch a garden in under an hour and people would stop and try and smell the roses. She could whip out a portrait of a student, or a Quidditch game, or a spell being cast. A fourth year in her elective who loved photography had taken to making her drawings move after coating it with a special potion. Dolores would hang them up in her dorm, and her dorm mates would marvel over them. They called the drawings _beautiful_ and _amazing_ and _stunning._ When she heard those comments Dolores would puff up in pride, and look at her drawings with a smile of her face.

Dolores came home with wonderful remarks from her teachers and admiration from her classmates. Her parents were waiting for her at the platform, and Dolores ran to them. They scooped her up and swirled her around, showering her with kisses.

The summer passed through in a haze of flowers and pies, of starry nights and laughter. Dolores had never felt happier in all of her life, and she felt something like regret at the approaching school year. Dolores didn't want to go back to school—for all of their admiration for her drawings; her classmates had made no move to be friends with _her_ despite all of her attempts.

So when she wandered down the isle of the train and saw a girl her age sitting alone in a compartment, she stopped and stared.

And not just because the girl was beautiful. She was—her hair was like woven moonlight, glowing softly in the shade of the train. Her eyes were silver like Dolores' mum's special necklace, and she was slender like a willow.

The girl was looking out the window at the crush of students, and Dolores watched as the dim light played on her face, skittering over her cheeks like dew drops.

Dolores hesitantly knocked on the glass, and the girl looked up, smiling in welcome. She beckoned Dolores in. Dolores entered, and sat gingerly on the red seats, staring at the girl.

"'Ello." The girl said in a heavy French accent. "My name iz Apolline Sauveterre. And yours?"

"Dolores Umbridge." Dolores said in a small voice. Her name sounded so ugly in comparison to Apolline's, Dolores thought in shame, cheeks burning. Apolline smiled at her, and Dolores smiled shyly back.

"Are you a first year?" Dolores asked when Apolline did not say anything.

"No, second." Apolline said. "I have been transferred."

"To Hogwarts?" Dolores asked, taken aback. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Normally one can't." Apolline nodded in agreement. "But my father iz an ambassador, and he must stay a year. He took me with 'im."

"Are you a second year, then?" Dolores asked.

Apolline nodded. Dolores broken into a sunny grin. "Brilliant!" She said. "I hope you like it at Hogwarts. It might not be much compared to France, but it's home."

"I have heard good tings about it." Apolline offered. "I will try an open mind."

"Good!" Dolores said. "Those who don't keep an open mind lose the world, my daddy always said."

"Your father zounds like a very smart man." Apolline said.

"I thinks he's the best in the world, but I might be a bit biased." Dolores laughed, still feeling slightly nervous.

"Yes, maybe just a bit _ami_." Apolline laughed along with Dolores.

Dolores' second year was the best out of all of her following years. Apolline was not Sorted into Hufflepuff, but rather into Ravenclaw. The two were best friends. Apolline had many other friends, but always made time for Dolores.

The two would sneak into the kitchens and feast for hours, talking with the charming little House Elves, before racing through the corridors to see who was the fastest. Apolline always paired up with Dolores when they had class together, and Dolores was so happy, she could have cried.

They also did what other best friends did; told each other secrets. Dolores told Apolline about all the mischief and pranks she got up to while Apolline told Dolores that she was half Veela. Dolores had gaped before laughing and telling Apolline that when they were older they should prank all of the boys in the school by letting Apolline convince them to do stupid things. They had laughed until the caretaker caught them and gave them a detention.

Like all things, however, the year came to an end. Apolline and Dolores bid each other a sad farewell, with each promising to visit the other.

Dolores felt so lonely the last few years. Her friendship with Sybil had fallen apart in light of Dolores' strong friendship with Apolline.

Her third year she got to Hogsmead, when she always used the Post Owls to send Apolline sweets and books and prank objects. Apolline sent Dolores pictures for her to sketch, beautiful shells and rocks, and long, long letters. Apolline told Dolores of the increasing friction between the French Ministry of Magic and the British one. That summer her parents took her to the Quidditch World Cup in France. Dolores and Apolline met up, and for two weeks (the Seekers were quite slow in catching the Snitch) talked and talked and talked. It was in tears that they parted.

In her fourth year, Dolores drew and drew and drew, wishing she had someone, _anyone_ to talk with like she and Apolline could talk. She often drew people she would _like_ to be friends with, and gave them beautiful names and beautiful personalities. Then she would turn away—she wasn't beautiful, nor her name and personality beautiful.

Fifth year brought O.W.L.s, and Dolores nearly buckled under the stress. She was in constant tears, and often sent letters home to her parents asking if she could just take the tests over the summer with them guiding her. They declined, telling her to stay strong. Dolores kept going, and her efforts paid off; she passed with nine O.W.L.s.

Her sixth and seventh years passed in a blur, and Dolores became consumed in drawing and work. Letters to and from Apolline came sparingly as each girl began to move on from their blazing friendship. Dolores had requested more art electives, and soon two more came to join the current one. Dolores took all to them, crushing them into her schedule until she barely had a moment's free time. She didn't mind—it's not like she had anyone to talk to even if she _had_ free time.

Dolores was fine. She was happy. She had no idea that her life would be completely destroyed in one act that would leave all breathless.

Dolores' life looked sure and true—she wanted to be an artist, and she had the talent. Then the summer of her graduation crept up on her, like the soulless Dementors.

It would change her to the point where no one would recognize her.

Where the little girl Dolores Umbridge died.


	4. All of My Life

**A Smattering of Sugar Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: I don't own. Like, at all.**

**Well, here it is. The last chapter. Thank you to all who reviewed and favorite and followed. ****Fox-Wolf-Dog, InfinitelyPotter****, thelostblacksister, ****ginnyandharryluvr****, and all of the rest of you. It means to world to me. I'll be writing more stories in the future. Feel free to leave suggestions for background/other stories.**

Chapter 3: All of my life

The brain is a funny thing, one could say. It is easier to remember instances of pain and hate rather than instances of love and friendship.

Dolores was at home when it happened. She and her mother were baking cookies the Muggle way, as he mum preferred to do it. Her mum often drew her aside and told her seriously; "My mother was a Muggle, and she always said that making the cookies by hand let the love flow through your fingertips," here Milane would kiss Dolores' fingers, even though Dolores was now old enough to be embarrassed by this "And into the dough. That makes these cookies more magical than any magic wands can produce." Here Milane would take and pinch of dough and poke it into Dolores' mouth.

Dolores' father was away at work. Political tensions with France had blown over, and now Uliah Umbridge had to deal with increasingly hostile magical communities. The Werewolves and Vampires (and quite a few Veela, too) were threatening to make war with the Wizarding World. Uliah was trying to keep everything under wraps and came home tried each day. He never went for walks anymore and often just sat in his chair, staring at the wall. Milane and Dolores watched in sadness.

Dolores had finished a painting for her dad earlier that day—she had hoped that the mountain slopes covered in wild strawberries might cheer her father up.

"Mum," Dolores said, looking up from adding chocolate chips into fresh dough, "Will there be a war?"

Milane's once youthful face was now lined with small wrinkles. Her eyes, however, were as bright as ever and glittered lovingly at Dolores.

"I think that truth and justice will win over darkness." She said slowly. "What will come will come, but we must always strive for peace, not hatred."

"That doesn't answer my question." Dolores protested, pelting her mum lightly with a chip.

"Hey now!" Her mother laughed. Milane grabbed a chocolate chip and threw it at Dolores. Dolores shrieked and grabbed a handful. Milane's eyes widened and grabbed a towel to protect herself from the incoming missiles. A few of the brown goods bounced off her head and into the sink, where they smacked wetly into the few dishes piled inside.

Laughing in delight, they kept fighting until a crack resounded in the garden.

They paused, glancing at each other. Dolores was holding a frying pan like a shield and the bag of chocolate chips in the other. Half melted blobs of chocolate were stuck in her hair. Milane had an apron with bulging pockets of magically multiplied chips. In the other she had a measuring cup half full of chocolaty water.

They set everything down, and Milane waved her wand, causing the floor to clean itself instantly. They stared at the door, wondering what was taking Uliah so long.

Then quickened footsteps crunched on the gravel path.

Milane and Dolores shared concerned glances before the footsteps hit the stairs and over the porch. The door banged open, hitting the wall and causing Milane to wince. Uliah stood in the doorway, white as a sheet, and shaking. Something was smeared on his face, and as Uliah stepped into the lamplight, Dolores saw with horror that it was blood.

"Uliah!" Milane gasped.

"Milane," Uliah replied, his voice cracking. "We have to run."

"Run? Run where?" Milane was still frozen, staring at her husband in horror.

"They're coming." Uliah looked around wildly. "Here, they know where we live!"

"Who?" Dolores crossed over to her father. He looked at her.

"Yes, who?" A deep, slick voice asked behind Uliah. Uliah's eyes widened in terror, and he spun around to face whoever was in the doorway.

Dolores felt the blood drain from her face. Standing in the doorway was at least ten humans. Except they weren't quite human, Dolores noticed. Some were hairy and wild while others . . . other were too white and pale with teeth so long they poked out of their mouths.

Vampires and Werewolves, Dolores thought with dizzying horror. She had only read about them, yet here they were in the flesh.

"What do you want?" Dolores demanded, pleased to note her voice wasn't shaking.

"You wizards shunt us!" The werewolf in the front—the one who had spoken first—howled. "We want out revenge!"

"By doing what exactly?" Dolores replied.

The werewolf simply snarled, and apparently that was the signal. The others surged forward with wands, fangs, and claws extended. Dolores cried out and started fighting. She couldn't look back at her parents or she'd die—they were fighting too hard, too fast, and aiming to kill.

Dolores kept stunning them, but more poured into the door. Tears clouded up her vision as curses cut into her skin.

Suddenly the room heated up, and Dolores turned to see Uliah and Milane behind a shield of fire. The beings circling her, lashing out when they could.

Dolores' moment of distraction cost her. A werewolf threw her into the sitting room, leaping after her as her body crumpled.

"Dolores!" Milane screamed and threw herself after her daughter. Milane jumped under the beasts claws as they flashed down. Dolores looked up, and saw her mother frozen before falling back. Blood leaked out of a gaping hole in her throat. Her eyes were glazed, and she was convulsing.

"NO!" Uliah yelled and slashed his hand down in a sweeping arch.

Dolores was weightless. She was lifted up and thrown about. She closed her eyes as he head his stone and all went black.

"_Her brain was badly damaged. We do not know the extent, however. She may have a complete personality change."_ A voice. Dolores struggled to wake up. It felt like she was walking through a fog. She blinked, and it felt like she was pushing aside a mountain.

"Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?" The voice from before asked. Dolores merely looked up at him, not recognizing him.

"My name is Healer Smith, Ms. Umbridge. You have been unconscious for nearly two months. How are you feeling?"

"I-I don't know." Dolores stammered. "What happened?"

Smith's face closed off, his gaze became sad. "Ms. Umbridge, I'm sorry to say that you have been attacked by half-breeds. They have killed your family. How much do you remember?"

"Not much." Dolores whispered. She looked into her memory, trying to figure out who she was. Her name, yes she remembered that. Her parents were Milane and Uliah Umbridge. She couldn't remember what they looked like, only fire. She couldn't remember anything about them. She thought back to Hogwarts. She was alone. She was so alone . . . "I-I don't know who I am!" Dolores cried, distressed. She made to get up, but Smith gently pushed her down.

"You're suffering from memory loss." He muttered, making a note on the piece of parchment next to Dolores' bed.

"W-what?" Dolores stammered. Healer Smith turned to look at her, smiling sadly. "Will I get it back?"

"I don't know." He said honestly. "But it was in a magical accident, and I'm afraid that the chances are slim."

"My parents are dead?"

Healer Smith's face contorted in rage. "The foul-blooded half-breeds killed them. I'm so sorry, Ms. Umbridge."

He left her then, and Dolores looked at the celling.

Foul blooded. _Mudblood_ her mind supplied and Dolores gritted her teeth. Half-breeds, Mudbloods. They all had dirty blood, they were responsible for her parents death and for her memory loss. They were evil. Surely if they attacked her family, they were evil. Surely they meant harm to all wizard kind?

"Truth and justice will win over darkness." A soft, beautiful voice echoed in her head. Dolores sat up, staring straight ahead.

If she couldn't help herself, then she would help and save others from this evil.

XoX

Years and years passed, and found Dolores Jane Umbridge in Azkaban prison for crimes against Muggleborns. She sat, staring out the window unblinkingly. Her drab prison clothes were a sharp contrast to her usual pink.

Her curly brown hair was long and caked with grime, but she didn't seem to notice.

Her memory never returned, and in several more years she would die from refusing to eat. Her name would be forgotten in time, and it would be as if Dolores had never existed.

Backing away, you step out of the house. The creaking and moaning beams seem to quiet, content that they have told their story. She stumble out onto the porch and down the sagging steps. You pause that the gate and look back at the house. For a moment, you could see it in its former glory, with laughter bubbling up from everywhere as the little family of three played and loved each other.

It will never be again.


End file.
